A DWM Cautionary Tale

November 6, 2013

There are a few universal truths:

A pot should never call the kettle black.

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

And people with large, uncovered windows in their front and side doors shouldn’t cook dinner in their underwear (or naked, for that matter), or so I’ve tried to teach TGIM.

So just before dinner last night, when the doorbell rang, TGIM dropped the spatula he’d been wielding (manfully!) and sprinted for the stairs, yelling, “Whoa! What the…?! Someone get that! I’m in my underwear!”

Even though I was super busy laughing and yelling after him, “See?! See, TGIM?! This is why!” I could still hear Paige’s daughter Kate’s voice carrying through the house as soon as Alli opened the front door.

“Hi! Um, I’ve been standing at your side door for, like, ten minutes…”

It was dark AND I was in the next room, but I could still hear the blush in her voice.

“I didn’t know what to do…” she said, obviously holding back laughter. “I just need to pick up some rabbit food!”

(Okay. It’s not as if she hadn’t already seen him in his cycling outfit, but still.)

So, of course TGIM, once properly pantsed up (panted?), went out and got in everyone’s face, helping TD get Kate some rabbit food, all tra la la, I have pants on, it never happened, tra la la, this isn’t awkward, if I talk enough everyone will forget, la di da!

“That’s not enough. Here, have some more!” TGIM offered, shoveling more rabbit food into the bag Kate was holding.

“No, it’s okay—”

“No, no, have some more!”

“But, we only need—”

“No worries! It’s yours! We’re good here! Take it!”

Awkward.

After Kate drove away, fully stocked with pretty much all the rabbit food we owned, and we finally sat down to dinner, I turned to TGIM and said, “Well, I’m just glad she didn’t see you in Superman underwear or something.”

The kiddos burst into giggles when, with perfect composure, TGIM replied, “Yesterday, she would have.”

Camping with the Morwitzes

June 11, 2012

This weekend we went on a camping trip with some friends… let’s call them the Morwitzes. (See how I did that there, Morwitzes? YOU know who you are!)

And while they mocked me for bringing my iPad–some of my kids haven’t SEEN all the episodes of Sherlock, okay?!– and for sleeping in the car instead of a tent– hello? due to potential back pain from the rocky ground and absolutely NOT because I’m afraid of being eaten by a bear even though on the way into the campground we spotted a few big ol’ black bears that would (I am told) rather eat berries than people–it was good times for all. Because they are a fun, somewhat snarky, super cool family, that’s why!

As we sat around the campsite towards the end of the campout, one of our friends suddenly asked, “So, are we going to be in your blog now?” Which was A) surprising and awkward (people besides my mother READ my blog?!), and secondly, hilarious. So, as not to disappoint, I’ve recorded a few snippets of conversation from the weekend.

(ASIDE: There was this hilarious conversation about a certain “artsy” photograph from Mr. Morwitz’s college years that is NOT currently hanging on their wall, but that is a story for another day… I shall call it “Tit Climber.” Or not.)

Driving in Cars with Fifth Graders

On the way to the Shenandoah National Park, we swapped kids. Mack travelled with the Morwitzes to hang with one of her BBFs and we got our friends’ fifth grade son (we’ll call him Little Man), whose delightfully elliptical conversations kept us entertained throughout the drive.

Little Man: Oh, I know that I’m weird.

Cat:  Nothing wrong with being weird, I always say!

Alli:  That’s true. She does say that.

TD:  A LOT.

Cat: Yep. I’m a big fan of weird!

Alli:  Says that, too.

TD:  A LOT.

Little Man: In first grade, I tried being normal. It didn’t work.

Cat:  Oh…

Little Man: So I decided that I would be abnormal.

Cat: Oh, okay. So… you decided to be yourself.

Alli: Yeah. You OWNED your weirdness! Right Momma?

Little Man: No, no, I decided to be abnormal because I didn’t like trying to be normal.

Cat: But if you ARE abnormal, then that would mean you simply decided to be yourself.

Little Man: Oh…

Cat:  You decided to be YOUR normal.

Little Man: I hadn’t thought of that…

Cat:  Because you’re weird.

Little Man: Yes.

Cat: I like you, Little Man. You’re fun to talk to.

Little Man: Thank you.

At the Campground

To set this up, I should mention that Mack’s friend has a somewhat quiet and serious nature, at least around grown-ups. I’m pretty sure it’s a front though. Oh, not in an insincere, Eddie Haskell kind of way, mind you, but more of a Michigan J. Frog (“Hello! ma baby! Hello! ma honey Hello! ma ragtime gaaal…”) Looney Tunes-type thing. I mean, the girl is a fencing champion, after all! (Olympic fencing, that is. Obviously. Just want to be clear.) So she has a wild streak in there somewhere, right? Right? I’m just saying. So anytime I see her smile or crack a joke or act as silly as my daughters and other eighth-grade girls often do, well, it’s just fun.

Now for the conversation. While we were camping, I noticed that when she wasn’t helping set up tents or playing frisbee or talking to Mack, she was immersed in a book. And while I know how irritating it is to be callously ripped out of a perfectly good book, I had to know what she was reading. Clearly. Because I’m annoying that way? So when I noticed her sitting quietly next to her mom, reading, I pounced. Cat-like and whatnot.

Cat: So… What’cha reading?

Mom M: Oh, you know, she’s just doing a little light reading. It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.

Heh. So, definitely NOT light reading, then. (Because I’m pretty sure that bad boy was the 1200 to 1400-page unabridged version.)

Now, I must confess that my English teacher recovery suffered a slight relapse (eight years teaching-free!) as I immediately thought, Here’s my chance! Because there are only so many ways you can make an author memorable for your students. Honestly. You don’t even know.

Cat:  Oh! Cool!

I had her attention.

Cat: (excitedly) The one by dumb-ass, right?!

She looked up at me. She cracked a smile.

Mack:  MOM…

Cat: (very seriously) Of course, I meant to say “Dumas.”

Her smile widened. I would even go so far as to say… she grinned.

Woo! Success! Cat’s lame, somewhat puerile humor FTW (for the win)! Take THAT, high school English teacher.

Camping in the Shenandoahs

TGIM. It’s a Whole Big Thing.

February 22, 2011

The other day my husband was chatting with an acquaintance. After a few minutes she laughed and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing, but I forgot your name,” she confessed. “All I can think is TGIM!”

Well. When I heard about this I was all “woo-hoo!” and proceeded to pat myself on the back. But not literally, as that would be weird, even for me. But there was pride, people! Serious pride! Because, you know, TGIM is all my creation and stuff. And this means it’s, like, officially a thing now! Right?! TGIM! You see? Do you?!

So obviously I took it as a compliment.

TGIM? Not so much.

Frogging: The Object Lesson

January 25, 2010

While enjoying some down time with my buddy Paige—which involved drinking caffeinated beverages, knitting and crocheting stuff, and watching the movie Australia (which, WOW?)—I looked over and saw that Paige, apparently frustrated, was busy unraveling hours worth of stitches on her bunny sweater project.

Never one to let a teaching moment pass me by—because, nerdly?—I said, “You know, hardcore knitters call that frogging.”

Paige stopped unraveling and looked at me. “What?”

“You know,” I nodded towards her quickly dwindling bunny sweater, “unraveling your stitches when you mess up. That’s frogging.”

Paige paused, looked at her work, then me, and said, “Frogging, eh?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“Why?”

Ooooh! Object lesson! Object lesson! I am SUCH a fan of the object lesson.

“Start pulling out the stitches again,” I instructed her. “And since the term frogging sort of gives this impression of, like, way enthusiastic unraveling, really go for it, okay?”

With a shrug, Paige began to unravel her knitting again.

“Good, Paige!” I shouted, which may have been overkill, in retrospect. “Rip it… rip it…RIIIIIP IIIT…!”

Naturally, we got all giggly at this point. I mean, we WERE drinking caffeinated beverages, after all, so there was that whole caffeine-induced giddiness factor in play. I’m only saying.

We may or may not have spent the rest of the afternoon drinking caffeinated beverages, knitting and crocheting stuff, watching the movie Australia, and every so often croaking, “Rip it! RIP IT!” as we exuberantly frogged our respective projects. Maybe. Honestly, it’s all a total blur now. I guess we may never know for certain.

In other news, knitters are total geeks.

“So you had a good day.”

January 5, 2010

Ah, good day. I ran 5K with Paige and then we spent the rest of the evening knitting super cool wristers (yes, SUPER COOL), eating Hershey’s kisses, and watching old episodes of “Lie to Me.”

Oh! But… not a 5K RACE! No indeed! That would have involved registration fees and fancy new running clothes and other craziness. Just… you, know, 5 kilometers. Or translated to metric-hatin’ American distance, 3.1 miles. Of course, truth be told, I actually ran 3.75 miles, but 5K was way easier to say, albeit a bit on the braggy, pretentious, metric-lovin’ side. Just a smidge. Perhaps.

Well, it was easier to say until I felt compelled to clarify, of course, at which time I realized I should have just said 3.75 miles in the first place. Total fail.

Still… good day. Yep.

Wrister!

One glove! I'm bringing it back, baby.

(The wrister in all its glory. Behold, the awesomeness.)

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